Broken, But Healing
by Belle Walker
Summary: Post season 4 finale. They've been rescued. Now comes the healing.
1. Chapter 1

**Slightly different writing style for me with this one. I tend to shy away from writing in the present-tense, but it just seemed to fit with this story. I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

* * *

The first time he wakes, he can't even muster up enough strength to open his eyes.

But he can hear a voice that's vaguely familiar speaking words his brain can't seem to process.

It's a pretty voice.

Quiet. Soothing.

He just can't quite place it.

Something to do with sunshine?

Or maybe gunpowder.

He isn't sure.

He's not sure of anything besides the overwhelming pain and the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

He can feel movement, but it isn't of his own doing.

He's being lifted; he can tell that much. And carried, possibly.

Something long and stiff materializes under him, and gravity evens out immediately.

He's lifted again, rigid board and all.

Doors shut. Sirens come on.

Something closes around his hand.

And that voice is heard again.

But he feels too numb to try to listen.

The blackness clouding his head is comforting and almost painless.

He's unable to fight it.

So instead, he welcomes it.

* * *

The second time he wakes, he's able to open one eye — and just barely at that.

But it takes too much effort, so he closes it again.

At least the pain has stopped.

And the bloody taste is gone.

He hears that voice once more.

The familiar, pretty-sounding one.

This time, her tone is pained; tearful. Maybe even desperate.

And this time, his brain is just able to assimilate the words floating into his ears.

"Come on, Deeks. Don't you dare do this to me. _Wake up._"

_I am awake_, he wants to respond. _Didn't you see me open one eye?_

But his mouth isn't feeling up to cooperating just yet.

He's tired. So tired.

When sleep engulfs him again, he doesn't resist.

* * *

He can feel something pressing against him.

Something on his right side…from his shoulder, all the way down to his foot.

It's hard work, but he manages to open both eyes and turn his head just enough to see what.

Not what.

Who.

He should have known.

Her dark ponytail spills over the stark white sheet of his hospital bed.

She's facing him with one hand curled under her cheek in a small makeshift pillow and her forearm resting lightly against him from his bicep to his elbow.

A thick lock of hair partially obscures her eyes but he can see that they're closed and she is obviously asleep.

Still, her presence brings him comfort as he gazes at her softly.

_Hi, Fern._

But he doesn't say it out loud…only in his mind.

He imagines her answering him.

_Hey, partner. How are you?_

_Broken,_ he replies silently. _But healing._

He's able to move his left arm a little, though he doesn't have full control over the muscles quite yet. There's no damage to them, he knows. They're just a little stiff right now.

Even so, he lifts his hand to gently brush away her lock of hair so he can see her face more clearly in the growing darkness.

She must've felt the contact because her eyes open sleepily under heavy lashes, and they widen slightly in surprise as she realizes he's awake.

Awake, and looking straight at her.

A thousand emotions war on her face…and probably a thousand questions, too.

But when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is a soft, "Hi."

He forces his vocal cords to work this time. "Hi."

He asks for water and she sits up to reach for a small paper cup with a straw.

A rush of cool air replaces the warmth from her upper body, and a slight chill passes over him.

He knows better than to try sitting up himself, so he sips through the straw as best as he can while lying down.

"Thanks."

His energy sapped, he closes his eyes again.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, she isn't there anymore.

He's disappointed.

He misses her already.

Never mind the fact that he's always sleeping when she is there.

There's no point in keeping his eyes open in the darkness, so he closes them once again.

And a minute later, he feels the mattress dip on one side of his bed.

"I thought you'd left."

It comes out as a whisper, but she hears it nonetheless and it stops her mid-movement.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he assures her quietly. "Lay down…it's okay."

"You sure?" she questions, as if she has no idea how much he needs her by his side right now.

Somewhere in the dark he finds her arm and gives it a tiny squeeze. "Come on."

So she climbs up beside him once again, laying on her side and facing him, taking up as little of his precious bed space as possible.

Her head is on the very edge of his pillow; close enough to his that he probably could've counted the flecks of gold in her brown eyes if the lights had been on.

There's a little moonlight coming through the window, just enough to highlight their profiles in the dark of nighttime.

She raises one hand to his face, but it stops just shy of actually touching him.

He can't imagine he looks very good, what with the bruises and cuts he can feel on his face and body.

"What did they do to you?" she asks in a pained whisper.

She sounds like she's on the verge of crying and he silently begs her not to; because he's certain that if she starts, so will he.

"You don't want to know."

It's vague. It's not reassuring. It's something he doesn't really want her to know the details about.

But she'll find out soon enough, he knows.

He absently probes his teeth with the tip of his tongue, counting to make sure they're all still there. They are, except one has a small hole that wasn't there before.

He'll probably never get the sound of that whirring dental drill out of his ears.

If not for the drugs pumping through his system, he'd be feeling the intensity of that tooth all over again. He's going to need a good dentist when he gets out of the hospital.

Her voice is quiet in his ear, as if she's afraid to speak very loud. "I should have been there with you."

"I'm glad you weren't," he answers honestly, turning his head to look at her again. "Or else you'd have your very own bed in another room here in this hospital."

He's unwilling to even entertain the notion that she wouldn't have lived through whatever torture Sidorov and his henchmen might have subjected her to.

Kensi doesn't answer him; only slides her hand up to rest gently on his shoulder on the side of him that she'd practically molded herself up against.

"How's Sam?" he asks, hating that it sounds like an afterthought when really that's been the main question on his mind since recovering his bearings.

"He'll be okay," Kensi responds softly. "Michelle's looking after him."

"How's Michelle?"

She almost manages a smile. "She's good. Sam's looking after her, too."

He still can't understand Sam's lack of faith in him as a partner. He's never let the man down before — why should it be any different just because Sam's wife is involved?

Deeks was good enough, only up to a certain point?

It hurts. It really does.

He hopes it will change. He did save Sam's life, after all.

Surrendering his gun to terrorists in exchange for the key to the handcuffs…pulling the other man from the water and reviving him with CPR.

He'd have done it for anyone. He'd like to think that Sam would have done the same for him, had the roles been reversed.

Not once in his whole history with the team had he ever wondered whether Kensi trusted him with her life, or Callen either. The unspoken trust was just _there._

He's silent for a long while, and Kensi lifts her head to see if he's sleeping again.

He's obviously not, since he's staring straight up at the ceiling.

His lack of speech unnerves her. Unaware of the depth of his thoughts, she tells him, "Callen's been looking after Monty."

That seems odd, since he can't recall ever seeing Callen pet Monty even one single time in the past.

But maybe it isn't so odd — Monty had been a stray once upon a time, and so had Callen, really.

"I hope he doesn't starve," Deeks offers neutrally.

"Actually, I think he's feeding him too much," Kensi responds. "A whole new bag of dog food is almost empty already."

He's glad to know his dog is being taken care of. He appreciates Callen for stepping up and doing it.

Kensi hasn't said anything about the kiss. Not a single word about that jaw-dropping moment when he'd silenced her rambling irritations with one frustrated and unplanned smooch.

Apparently, that conversation was going to be saved for later. Well, whatever grief she'd choose to give him about it, he wasn't going to back down. Not anymore.

His impromptu kiss had put his true feelings for her out in the open, and he wasn't about to lock them away again after finally letting them out to breathe.

He can't keep his eyes open any longer. They drift closed, and Kensi knows he needs more rest.

"Sleep, Deeks."

He feels the tiniest flutter of her lips pressed to the corner of his mouth.

"I'll be right here."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the kind words, everyone. Because I can't leave anything alone, here's a second chapter.**

* * *

Early morning sunlight streams through the open blinds at the window, prodding Kensi from her slumber.

She lays there a moment, her eyes adjusting to the brightness.

"Deeks?" she whispers softly. "You awake?"

"Yeah," he answers, though his eyes are still closed.

"Do you need anything?"

_Just you._

"More water would be good," he responds instead, and gratefully sips what she gives him.

And that's the extent of his words.

She wishes he'd say more. Any words at all — it doesn't matter what.

She misses his normal, constant chatter.

_It'll come back,_ she assures herself. _Just give him time._

The tip of her index finger traces tiny invisible lines over the uninjured bare skin of his shoulder where it peeks out from under his thin hospital sheet.

She wonders if he wants to be left alone. But she's afraid to ask, because she doesn't want him to say yes.

"Kensi?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I…put my arm around you?"

It's an odd request, Deeks knows. But considering she's plastered herself against his side for an entire day and night already, he figures he has a right to ask.

It almost brings a smile to her face. "Yes."

She sits up, and he pulls his arm out from under the sheet to give her more room at his side.

His movements are slow, but not clumsy. He's regaining his strength already, and hopefully won't be in the hospital very much longer.

Kensi lays down again, this time snuggling into the crook of his shoulder. However close she can get to him, it's still not enough.

His arm comes around her; his hand rests at her waist.

He needs a shower and some deodorant, but somehow she doesn't mind the musky scent.

She stretches her arm across his chest, her hand positioned directly over his heart.

She can feel the steady _thump-thump_ beneath her palm, and it's the most wonderful thing she's ever known.

She doesn't tell him that he'd coded once in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

That he'd been technically dead for the longest eight seconds of her entire life.

She absolutely hates it when Hetty breaks them apart. Bad things always seem to happen when she's separated from her partner.

Of course, bad things happen when they're together, too…but as long as she's there to cover his back, and he's there to cover hers, she has faith that they'll make it out of the danger together.

She's so angry at Sam that she can barely even comprehend why. She knows she really has no right to be.

It wasn't Sam's fault that they were double-crossed by Janvier. Sam was captured and tortured right alongside Deeks, just as she would have been, or Callen would have been.

Maybe she's mad at Sam because he didn't even want Deeks partnered with him in the first place. Maybe she's mad because he failed to protect her partner, in her absence.

"I'm sorry, Deeks," she offers quietly.

"For what?" he asks, surprised.

But she can't explain it.

"I'm just…sorry," she repeats.

He was right — she has _terrible_ communication skills.

His silence overwhelms her. It's just so unusual coming from him.

It's been days since she's heard him crack a joke. Or quip a one-liner. Or even smile all the way.

She desperately hopes that this version of him will not last.

She wants the old Deeks back. She _needs_ him back.

_I love you, Marty Deeks._

She wants him to know that. But now is not the time to tell him.

She'll wait until he's fully strong again. When he's back to his old self.

She still remembers the first time her team had rescued Deeks, just after he'd joined the OSP as their LAPD Liaison and then promptly disappeared on an undercover assignment.

'_I told you I'd be back,'_ he'd said to her with a grin despite having been beaten, bloody and bruised.

'_Oh, shut up,'_ she'd responded then…more annoyed at the time with his never-ending cockiness than relieved at finding him alive.

He'd changed her over the years. She knew he had. And now, she doesn't know what she'd do if she ever had to go on living without him.

Looking back to the very beginning, who could've ever foretold that they would come this far?

The tears she's been holding in finally spill down her cheeks.

Her subsequent sniffle catches his attention, and he turns his head to look at her.

"Don't do that," he pleads in a whisper, his heart breaking to see her like this.

She inhales a deep breath and lets it back out. "I can't help it. I almost lost you."

_I_, not _we_. This is personal to her, and she lets him know it.

"Hey." He brings his free hand over and wipes tenderly at the tear trail on her cheek. "You can't lose me, Fern. You're stuck with me."

That's one of the many things she needs to hear right now.

His arm around her pulls her tighter against his side and he presses a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Kensi."

He says it so matter-of-factly. So honestly and unexpectedly — and with a glimmer of his old self — that it shatters her heart and then puts it right back together again.

And all of a sudden, she knows that they'll get through this.

Him and her. Both of them, together.

What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. Right?

* * *

The end. For real, this time.


End file.
